Light of Home
by Tasogare-Taichou
Summary: A sequel to Puzzle-Cube, set 2 years later. YoruichixUrahara. Nothing feels as good as finally coming home. Yuusuke is mine, do not steal him.


Title: Light of Home  
Fandom: Bleach  
Character/Pairing: UraharaxYoruichi, Yuusuke  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Set 2 years or so after Puzzle Cube. Yoruichi has made a point of staying away, but perhaps Kisuke can convince her that there isn't nearly such a need for it.

A droplet of bright crimson welled to the surface of skin as the needle's lancet point jabbed into the all too yielding flesh of a thumb. Pulling the offending digit back with a sharp yelp of pain, blue-gray eyes studied the minor injury for a moment before deciding on the relatively tried and true method of sucking on the fingertip to draw off the pain. After a moment or two, the man pulled his finger from his mouth and studied it a moment. With a sigh of resignation, he reached up to readjust the green and white patterned hat on his head before picking up the needle again and resuming his work on a much-patched pair of pants.

"And just when did _you_ learn to sew, Kisuke?"

As seldom as he'd heard her voice over the last 11 years, it seemed he still hadn't gotten used to it's sporadic nature, the sudden thrill at her soft contralto still undimmed by time and other things that had changed between them. Glancing back over his shoulder at her with a customary grin, he raised an eyebrow in mock confusion, gesturing at the pile of clothing at his feet before jerking his head towards the open window behind him, through which a tangle of blond hair and dark skin rested amidst the bunched sheets, one arm thrown across his face in sleep.

"Ahh, Yoruichi-san~. It's been awhile. As to your question, what choice did I have? He rips the knees out so often climbing into trees."

Quirking the corner of his mouth at her, he set the latest mending down and reached for his stil-steaming cup of tea. Raising it to his lips, he paused to regard her from beneath the brim of his hat.

"You'd think the boy had a cat for a parent, what with how agile he is."

She answered him with a smirk and a roll of golden eyes as she sauntered over, footsteps as light as the cat whose form she habitually took. Pausing at his side, she leaned back, letting her back rest against the smooth wood of the porch railing with a soft sigh. His slight teasing wasn't lost on her, it was his own way of reminding her that, like it or not, the boy sleeping like a stone in the room behind them was as much hers as he was Kisuke's.

It wasn't that Kisuke would shove responsibility down her throat -- _he_ knew better than that, if nothing else – but somehow the idea of it still bothered her. It wasn't Yuusuke's existence in and of itself, but... what his existence symbolized. The child they'd created together, though unexpected and – at least on her end – somewhat unwanted, nonetheless existed. And in his existence was validation and proof of the one thing that she was loathe to acknowledge. That of all the attachments that she'd made in her life, all of the tenuous and fragile contacts and links, there was one that hadn't stayed that way. That hadn't remained tremulous and breakable, and had instead grown thicker and stronger, enough so that when it had come down to the wire, she had faltered. Faltered and made the very decision that she'd sworn she wouldn't make.

That Kisuke understood that was a given. She wasn't about to try and delude herself into thinking that the man who knew her better at times than she knew herself _hadn't_ realized what their son's life really symbolized. But whether Kisuke knew or not was a moot point as far as she was concerned, a moot point because as long as she never acknowledged it, never admitted it... then life could go on in a much more normal fashion.

Only... it hadn't. And that was the most frustrating thing, and the source of occasional resentment directed – regrettably, because it wasn't his fault and he shouldn't have to bear the blame for it – at the very same child in question. Because his conception, his birth... had changed everything. And now there were levels of complication, spaces of awkwardness that she didn't know how to breach. She wasn't cut out to be a mother, and she wasn't about to settle down and _be_ one. And while Kisuke would understand that – hell, he'd probably have seconded the idea that she was about as good a mother as he was a fireman – the same couldn't necessarily be said for an 11 year old boy. It was why she'd taken such pains to stay away. Well... it was one reason, and the easiest one to justify. If Yuusuke never came to accept her as a normal part of his life, then there would be no disappointment at the realization that she would never be like a "normal" mother.

"You're quiet tonight, Yoruichi. Something wrong?"

The directness in his question was a bit disconcerting, not because Kisuke was ever anything but honest with her, but because it lacked his usual playful and teasing mood. That in and of itself was dangerous, it meant his mind was beginning to take a turn away from the simple and shallow and delve deeper into things. Things that likely had to do with her, and with Yuusuke. Running a hand through her bangs, she shook her head with a laugh.

"Just listening, is all. He snores nearly as loud as you do, you know."

It wasn't entirely a lie, or misdirection – especially seeing as she couldn't help but wonder off-handly whether the walls were about to start rattling – but it was still teasing, joking. Lighthearted and simple. Easy. Raising an eyebrow at him, she pushed off from the wall slightly.

"Or maybe you taught him that on purpose, to make anyone thinking of sneaking in convinced you've got a bear caged up in there?"

Pulling the hat off of his head with a chuckle, he set it beside a very similar-looking one comprised of patchwork corduroy in multiple shades of blue and brown, raking a hand through ash-blonde hair. He knew what she was doing, just as well as he knew the reason why she was doing it. It was hard, at times, to accept _her_ unwillingness to accept the way that things had changed, but not nearly as hard as it was to accept the new distance between the two of them, the way this one thing had caused such a strain on what had once been the closest of relationships.

"The snoring he gets from me, but _I_ certainly don't kick in my sleep the way that he does. I used to end up black and blue every time he'd have a bad dream when he was little~"

A snicker was her answer as she leaned down to snag the cup of milk sitting conveniently beside his teacup – he always left one for her, every night that he sat out here, and she had to wonder at times how he managed to afford to throw out so much milk. HE certainly didn't drink it – and raising it to her lips to take a sip of the cool white liquid.

"You always _were_ such a baby when it came to that. I guess there's no hoping you'd get over it with time."

Kisuke chuckled at her response, glad to see her loosening up, relaxing again in his presence. Like they used to be, before things had changed. It was... more than simple nostalgia. He _missed_ her, far more that he knew she would have accepted, were he to attempt to tell her so. It would have to be enough that she knew, at least on some level, how important she was to him. How much he treasured the time he spent with her, the nights spent with her in his arms, the evenings of simply sitting on the roof and watching the stars, even those mornings where she would steal away at dawn while he pretended to be asleep. Not to deceive her – she always knew he wasn't really asleep – but to at least make it seem that it was easier for him to let her go, to know that no matter how much he wanted to hold her and never let go, she'd never allow it. And really... it was one of the things that made her Yoruichi, and one of the things that he wouldn't have ever wanted to change.

She'd always been a free spirit, coming and going as she pleased, without a care in the world. And he'd always been her anchor, her partner, her harbour. She was the ship, sailing across the oceans of the world in search of wonders untold, while he was the port to which she always returned when her travels were ended for the time being and she was ready to come 'home'. But now, those times were fewer and farther between, and it was taking it's toll on him despite how much the former captain might have liked to think otherwise.

"Na, Kisuke... this is almost like old times, isn't it?"

_No... it's not. Because in the old times, you wouldn't be running away from me..._ his mind answered, though he ignored it's voice in favour of a chuckle and another sip of his tea before dropping his hat lightly on her head.

"Hmmm....~ I supposed you're right. Only, then I didn't feel as old as I feel now~"

He watched her laugh as she finished her milk, one dark-skinned hand pressing against the smooth wall as she pushed off, heading down the porch again. Leaving, for yet another time, as he watched.

_Don't go.... not this time..._

It wasn't really what he might have otherwise considered 'conscious thought', more just a matter of reflexes and movements that happened to coincide with what his brain decided in that moment that it wanted, but almost before he really thought about it, he'd pushed himself up from the floor and with a quick flash of shunpo he was behind her, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other across her chest as he pulled her back against him with a sigh, his chin coming to rest softly on her shoulder.

"Stay..."

His quick movement caught her off-guard, but it was the sudden feeling of his arms around her that stopped her from reacting, that kept finely-honed instincts from kicking in at that moment. Stiffening at the sudden warmth of Kisuke's chest pressed up against her back, she froze at the soft words whispered into her ear. Stay. Swallowing, she forced herself to breathe, to not panic at the sudden shock.

In all their years together, in all of the time they'd spent as friends, comrades, and more... not once had he ever asked it of her. That he wanted it, she'd always known, from the one time when they'd been but teens and he'd stammered out a nervous three words to her and she'd stared at him in disbelief for a few moments of awkward silence before laughter had broken the moment. He'd never said it again – neither of them had even mentioned it, for that matter – but it hadn't ever been forgotten, just as she'd never forgotten all the mornings when she'd woken up beside him and leaned over to press a soft kiss of apology to his forehead before slipping out like a shadow. He knew, she had no doubts about that, just as she could sense the faint stirrings of his mind, know that he was only miming sleep, only trying to ease the burden of knowledge on her shoulders. That... was just how Kisuke was. He never asked, never expected anything from her but what she was willing to give. And because of that... he received so much more than anyone else in her life.

But now, after everything... he was asking. Asking – she would have called it pleading, had there been a slight bit more urgency to his tone – for the one thing that he'd always said he'd never ask. The one thing that he'd told her he never expected. Asking for it, holding her in a way that was so alike yet somehow so different then any other time. She felt her head drop, one hand raising up to grip his wrist lightly, to push it away in denial. She... couldn't.

"Kisuke, I..."

"I don't expect anything, Yoru. You are who you are. I accepted that years ago, you know that as well as I do. None of this... has to change anything, and I'm not asking for it to change. _Neither_ of us would ever expect it of you, you know."

Tightening his grip on her, he brushed lips against the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent mingled with the night air. It felt so _good_ to have her so close again, to touch her like this again, good enough that he could almost forget that in all likelihood he'd have empty arms in a moment or two as a small black cat lept up onto the fence and disappeared into the night. But at this point, what more could it hurt to – perhaps for the first time in awhile – be honest with himself, and with her in turn.

"It doesn't have to change. So just... stay."

Like always, he'd managed to hit the proverbial nail on the head, and she couldn't deny that while she knew perfectly well that the reclusive shop-owner would understand, it was hard not to have doubts about the boy. Children... didn't tend to understand things like that, to understand her nature and the way that things had to be. And, Kisuke's son though he was, there was little reason to believe that the boy in question would understand any better. That it wouldn't simply cause him more pain when the realization hit.

But even as that thought filtered it's way through her mind, she couldn't deny that it felt _good_ to be like this, to have Kisuke's arms wound around her the way they were, to once again feel the soft press of his lips against her skin, the warm wash of his reiatsu wrapping around her like a cloak. It was familiar, and comfortable, and above all... it spoke of _home_. Not Seireitei, where she'd been born and raised, but something... something deeper.

It had been a long time since she'd felt that sense of home, of belonging somewhere, and there was no denying that in the long span of years that she could remember, no place had held that feeling so much as wherever Urahara Kisuke was. Tightening her grip on his wrist with a sigh, she carefully let herself relax into his embrace. She would stay, even if only for tonight. Stay, and bask in the comforting glow of home and love. And perhaps, when tomorrow came... she'd reconsider. But for now, staying was good enough. Turning slowly around in his arms, she reached up to snag the striped hat off of his head and drop it on her own with a wry grin before winding an arm around his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers.

"Alright. But you'd better have plenty of milk."


End file.
